


Signal to Noise

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Saw your prompt and loved it, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson was calmly having a cup of tea when Sherlock burst in. It was funny, having conversations, the pauses and the expressions people made to intone things that he didn't hear. That he had to imagine what it would sound like. Sherlock had a lulling voice sometimes, quick and clipped other things, and he imagined from books that it must be to have the compelling undertones that he supposed would make the unmistakeable peaks and troughs of the sub-harmonics that indicated a strong set of talents.  Moriarty had cooed over Sherlock's voice, multi-talented and intense, and John couldn't bring himself to care because it didn't matter any more than Mrs Hudson speaking to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signal to Noise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yeomanrand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/gifts).



Dr. John Watson, no Voice on file.

That was how Mycroft Holmes had said hello, and it wasn't honestly the rudest thing he'd ever been told over the years. It made normal people's flesh crawl at the thought of how vulnerable you would be surrounded on all sides by people whose words could compel, seduce, command, charm or destroy you with no counter.

Everyone knew Voice intensity and timbre and tone directly correlated to success. Mary had a spreadsheet somewhere, and there were more mundanely the weekend papers and their auroscopes based on the Voice types and combinations.

Watson was calmly having a cup of tea when Sherlock burst in. It was funny, having conversations, the pauses and the expressions people made to intone things that he didn't hear. That he had to imagine what it would sound like. Sherlock had a lulling voice sometimes, quick and clipped other things, and he imagined from books that it must be to have the compelling undertones that he supposed would make the unmistakable peaks and troughs of the sub-harmonics that indicated a strong set of talents. Moriarty had cooed over Sherlock's voice, multi-talented and intense, and John couldn't bring himself to care because it didn't matter anymore than Mrs. Hudson speaking to him.

"I need to think John," Sherlock was saying. "Go do whatever menial thing you were doing elsewhere."

"I was here first Sherlock, and I am pretty much the only one paying rent at the moment." John answered mildly. "So bugger off yourself." He supposed most people in John's position would've been halfway out the door and not knowing why. Sherlock had a strong Compulsion wavelength in his voice that he had no compunctions about using. But that was expected. The world belonged to those with the highest intensity and broadest subvocal bandwiths.

"Get me some tea then if you won't leave," Sherlock answered, and he was clearly trying something, still, after all those years, eyebrows posed a little. It was slightly like watching a puppy try to stare him down.

"Kettle boiled a few minutes ago. Help yourself," John said diffidently, knowing they would repeat this little verbal sparring over and over again. One day he would fake normal reactions, just for a moment, let Sherlock believe that he had cracked the Voice combination that would breach the silence that existed in his mental processing.

"You are infuriating," Sherlock grumbled and he raised his eyebrows right back at him. "Mm. Fine. If you won't oblige, I'm going to get something, somewhere quiet."

"I'll listen for the screaming," John quipped. "Get some milk while you're out."

"You get the milk."

"Your turn," John answered and he heard a chuckle as Sherlock swept out again.

"You would think he would know better," John said as Mary paused coming into the room. He didn't know why, of all the Voiceless he was the only one he had heard of that had the compensatory ability of not just being able to speak the tonal qualities that gave the majority of the human race different abilities, but he couldn't hear them either. Swings and roundabouts as the saying went. He was considered other, but no compulsions, seduction or destructive tone could work on him. He often wondered if the army had taken him on because of that ability "And you both still try it now."

"Trying different techniques. It's hard not to," she pointed out. "It's like the ultimate rubix cube. He just can't help it."  
John raised his eyebrows at her," Are you making excuses for him or yourself?" he asked with a faint smirk, a memory of one of their first encounters drifting into his recollection. "I still remember the first time you decided you wanted to seduce me. The look on your face when I didn't leap up and ravish you on command was a picture."

She tsk'd as she sat down on the edge of his chair, smiling at him. "I've had to learn whole new techniques to deal with you."

"Sometimes I think you and Sherlock being multis made you both lazy," John said, taken again with how attractive she was, how she moved, everything about her. Sherlock had been just as bad, having a not insignificant Seductive harmonic in his Voice. In fact, John was pretty sure that the only person he had met with a higher intensity on that strand was Irene Adler and that had been an interesting confrontation to watch. 

Being Voiceless, being deaf to the effects of Voices, he had a safety net that no one expected, no one knew how to deal with. He could only watch, guess what people thought they were doing to him, watch their confusion as it hit a wall. "Mmm. Mmm, It's true. We all do this, and you're... Off in this other plane."

"I'm not completely oblivious to what you want," John said with a shrug. "I can read body language." Mary was clever, beautiful and moved with an ease and grace he did not have himself, and he could read a whole world in her body. "You and Sherlock have similar tell-tales in that respect."

"Mmmm, for comparing me to Sherlock, it's your time to make dinner tonight," she countered, leaning in close and comfortable to him. Body language, the one language he was fluent in.

"Beans on toast it is then," John said brightly, just to wind her up even as he heard the tell-tale 'ping' of the text . "Mycroft been sending you messages again?" Mycroft with one of the highest Compulsion intensities ever recorded if Sherlock was to be believed. It worried him that if Mycroft decided Mary had to do something, there would be no choice. But that as normal. Pure choice was something deviant.

"All day. I feel battered." Funny, thinking about Mary, his strong frightening Mary feeling battered. with her multi-talents, including her high intensity, narrow band stiletto knife of a desctructive timbre that most definitely did not appear on her Voice-print.

"Ignore him." John murmured. But then that was easy for him to say and virtually impossible to do for those who existed in a world where the strongest Voice dominated. “At least he is not compelling when he texts you."

"No, that's true. Not yet." She shifted off the chair arm, probably to get a cup of tea. "I'm sure he's working on it."

"Sherlock will be back soon with the milk," John said trying to shift attention away from Mycroft. "He will have talked himself into another try by now. Or re the two of you tag teaming to try and get me into bed again?"

"Is it that hard?" She chuckled it from the kitchen. "Takeout?" Something quick and easy implied just that.

"Hell why not," John said smiling as he got up to get the menus. "What do you fancy?" He'd have to message it in. The restaurants hated the fact that he nullified their sales pitch to buy more, and he swore he could hear the equivalent of 'bloody hell not him' every-time he had called in. Screwed with the National Barter percentage they were allowed to try and compel from customers.

"Thai, I think." It irked Sherlock a little, but John was handy with the messaging and most businesses accepted it as a form of transaction now a days. "Pad Thai would be good."

"Shall I order for Sherlock? Or is he in a sulking mood," John asked. "I mean, he is technically between cases. You know what he's like." It had been the reason they had all ended up living together after all. Sherlock had spiraled out of control, and was able compel whatever crack, or drugs out of any dealer he wanted, and that had become dangerous.

"He'll eat the fried rice." And Mary picked up on things that John did not necessarily always remember. They were a good team.

"And probably steal half of whatever we order," John agreed. He texted off the order for delivery and then wandered over to nuzzle Mary affectionately. "Hello."

"Hello." She smiled, a warm familiar thing, her scent faintly chocolate and lavender and she turned her head into the gesture while finishing pouring her tea. "Good day then?"

"The horrified pitying looks were down to a minimum, and I only got called a Silence fetish-ing freak once" John answered giving her a light kiss. "Mainly because I blanked the guy’s feeble attempt to seduce my compliance. Seriously, it barely registered a 0.5 intensity."

"And Sherlock mocked him heartily, I can tell." She turned, putting her arms around his waist leisurely, a possessive motion.

"Mm, of course. Assumed I was easy pickings I guess. One day Sherlock is really going to tell someone to go fuck themselves and they'll do it." John replied, running his hands over her sides and hips. "Am I a freak though?" It brought back too many memories of Harry's accusations, and serious discussions at school about his 'disability'. Usually when he punched some developing Compulsion ability in the face for trying to force sex on him.

"You're a rarity in this world, John. More like a unicorn than Loch Ness monster. Can you imagine a world where people had to use just words to convince someone, and everyone could decide how much weight to give them?" It had never been that way and John didn't think it ever would be, but sometimes he wondered.

"The people who choose to be like I am are considered perverted and." He grimaced and exhaled, rolling his shoulders to loosen stiff muscles. "Sorry. Being called that brings back bad memories of Harry. She would always yell that."

"But it's not a choice for you." She rubbed fingers along his back, soothing him with gestures instead of intonations.

"No, but it not natural for you and Sherlock." John paused a moment, considering what he was saying. "Mind you, I'm not sure anything is normal with Sherlock.

"If it weren't a massive inconvenience, I think he'd try to go voiceless just because he could. To piss Mycroft off." She let her hands wander a little lower than the small of his back.

She was beautiful. Smart, funny, successful and inexplicably she wanted him when she could have literally had anyone. "But then he wouldn't be able to screw with Lestrade and his team."

"Like picking wings off flies. He's not about to give that up," she chuckled, tipping her head down to nuzzle at his neck. "Can't stand in the kitchen making out all day, can we?"

"We've got Thai coming...” he warned. But he couldn't resist her. "We could probably fit something in." Sherlock might be jealous, but that was usually fun.

"Sofa?" She asked, grinning at him as she started to nudge him backwards.

"Well we all know you are brilliant," John said as they tumbled back onto the couch, practically giggling at the ungainly collapse.

And of course that was when Sherlock decided to return.

It was a shame that he hadn't intercepted the deliveryman on his way in, but John hadn't gotten very far. It was just comfortable laying back on the sofa, Mary kneeling over him, and sitting up to wave at Sherlock a little. "Close the door before you let a draft in."

"Of course you'd wait until I leave to initiate something.” Sherlock complained. "You know I like to observe the process."

Of course it was a moment of fascination for him. Everyone knew how sex was meant to work. It was a result of seduction harmonics. There were some people who assumed that those who could not hear were doomed to a life of celibacy as a result, but John had always been the exception.

Sex had nothing to do with seduction harmonics for him, because he didn't hear it. Touch was amazing, but that was how researchers ended up with confirmation bias. "You can keep watching," Mary offered. "And food's on order."

"Egg fried rice?" Of course Sherlock had taken in the menu, the way he had folded it, the phone handset and made a conclusion.

"Yeah," John grinned. Mary did like to have her own way, but interestingly she seemed to value it more when he chose to do it.

It was a novelty in her life, and John was pretty sure he was always going to be that novelty. Choice and selection, and John idled a hand down to her hip, while she seemed distracted by it and focused down on John.

"Mm." John met her look "Yes, I want you...and it's because I want *you* not because of a tonal quality.” He said that most times, and just like the times before, he could see the dilation of arousal in Mary's eyes, and the inhalation from Sherlock.

It was definitely a kink. Her reaction was so strong, so clear, and Sherlock's reaction betrayed interest, even as she slid her hands down to pull up his jumper.

Sherlock's attention burned in his awareness, his eyes fixed on them. "That's it, his nipples are very sensitive," Sherlock said in a deep voice, addressing Mary. "I want you to play with them."

"Only if she chooses to," John disrupted any seductive tones.

The sheer flatness of his tones, he'd been told, could disrupt a good compelling like a vacuum. Mary chuckled, and leaned down to kiss his belly instead, where he was a little ticklish.

It frustrated the hell out of Sherlock. One day it might actually move him to action although. He was too distracted himself giving a wriggle away and trying not to laugh. "Mary..."

"Mmmmhm, I like it when you squirm." She reached up and pinched a nipple, and then John briefly lost vision as his sweater was pulled up over his head and thrown somewhere on the floor.

"Touch him, make him move," Sherlock ordered and John countered mildly, "I've told you before Sherlock, you want something done, come and do it yourself. I want action not words."

It was like training a bad puppy, particularly since Sherlock give them a look where he wasn't sure if he was going to get the desired affect or have his shoes peed in. Getting Sherlock to engage in a non-verbal was a struggle, but it interested Mary too. "Fine."

He relied so much on his talent sometimes, John was pretty sure that was why he got bored. Being able to Compel someone to truth made hunting criminals easier if you were high enough up the scale, but even now the legacy of compulsion in law was difficult to validate. Even now, the law dictated any confession extracted through dominant Voice, had to be supported by corroborating physical evidence. A little nudge into non-verbal would help.

He kissed Mary conscious of Sherlock's eye on her.

It hadn't been something he'd expected to fall into, either of them, not given his place in society, his handicap, and it had nothing to do with pity. He saw Sherlock stand up, as Mary leaned back to take her shirt off.

"That's ...very nice," he said forgetting his usual habit of silence in sex. It had been jarring to his partners.

Mary grinned wider, stretching as she squirmed out of her bra, and Sherlock reached out to pinch one of John's nipples. "Which part?"

"Well that, and...those," he replied leaning forward to help her out. He did give an involuntary shudder at the pinch.

He wasn't too used to trying to split his attention yet, reaching a hand out to gently palm one of her breasts. The sofa was good for being open to both of them.

Touch and feel, a language of its own and something he was more proficient at than many others. Mary was beautiful, curvy and natural, muscles lurking beneath soft skin that made him want to touch and kiss her all over. He leaned in to pay attention to her skin, and to what Sherlock was doing as well.

It felt so good, heated and slow, caught between them in near silence except for soft noises of pleasure, and the occasional stuttered 'you should' from Sherlock.

Times like these, words were useless, powers of the Voice were useless. This was where they were all equal and John reveled in it. It was sensation, friction, hands and movement. Sherlock investigating the skin he could touch, Mary kissing him, sliding onto him.

They needed a bigger sofa, was the most coherent thought he could manage, briefly, before Sherlock's fingers reached between his and Mary's bodies to pull gently at John's balls.

Sherlock was playing a risky game, though great from his point of view. Mary would sometimes get proprietary about him there; they had had some pretty spectacular arguments about it, their Voices sparring for dominance.

What the hell, he just enjoyed the feeling. Touching there, reaching for his ass. Promising signs. One day they might actually manage a real threesome rather than a very comfortable three way groping and fingering and one of them getting fucked.

It was a minor miracle that Sherlock, who wore his reputed virginity as a badge of the world’s inability to beat his Voice was actually initiating a level of contact that could be seen as definitely sexual. Mary noticed him noticing and grinned at him as she moved, as much doing the fucking as he was. It was hard to not shift his hips too hard, to pull at his balls too hard as they were held in Sherlock's fingers, but god it felt good, letting his hands idle down to Mary's hips for a moment as she played with her clit while riding him.

Life didn't get any better.


End file.
